It took him a lot longer than it should’ve to take the assignment as a compliment.
If there was a God to thank for the traction he found underfoot, the earth beaten to a pulp beneath every rapid step, then he would fall to his knees and pray as soon as he could. Splitting his focus was a challenge he hadn’t had the opportunity to master in full. It was a trial by fire that saw his eyes overhead, frontwards, and upon the ground below. It wasn’t often that he ran in anything besides straight lines. For all Octavia had entrusted him with, it was the least she could do to watch him try his best. Harper hoped she wasn’t too distracted to share her eyes with him every now and again.
There was absolutely no point in playing from afar. He knew with certainty that his flames wouldn’t reach--not in the time they took to flicker to life and voraciously thrive on what oxygen they could claim. Plasma was faster than him by a longshot, every deadly crackle that preceded an earth-shattering strike born almost instantly by comparison. Mint had an advantage. She had several, and Harper was slowly counting up every single one as he leveled his breathing.
The size of her instrument, light and nimble, was perfect for her, nearly an extension of her fingers that she controlled with extreme skill. Every sharp twist and slight flick of her wrists brought with it deceptively-delicate rattling and impossibly-loud bolts of radiance. Mint's aim was dead-on, and Harper was slowly starting to understand why Octavia had placed him where she had. Outrunning lightning was no common feat. Even he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up.
In one hand, he kept Royal Orleans low at his side. The risk of conductivity was a concern he couldn’t shake, and the idea of accidentally turning Orleanna into a makeshift lightning rod was terrifying. With the other hand, he adjusted his cap. Orleanna had bigger concerns, more than likely.
“Orleannaaa,” he heard, a voice that had spoken her name with such charismatic glee not so long ago. “That you would stand to oppose me is the finest flattery! To what do I owe the pleasure? Do you battle for my affection, perhaps? It would be given freely, should you simply ask!”
Even in the midst of his dead sprint, his attention torn in every direction as he quite literally ran for his life, Harper still found time to smirk. He didn’t dare spare the breath to ask aloud. Okay, what is the relationship between you two, seriously?
He could’ve sworn he heard Orleanna outright growl, even internal as it was. Indescribable.
Crack. One of the bolts that hailed upon the earth was far too close for his liking, and it was subsequently too close a call. He was sweating, and not from effort alone. Every strike wasn't even slightly an empty threat, for how near they came to his head. He was fully convinced that Mint was actively trying to kill him. Of all four Ensemble members, Harper genuinely wondered if every last one was this bloodthirsty. It wasn’t as though he had the breathing room to check.
Orleanna's voice, irritated or not, was calming. He clung to it as he struggled to close the gap. Try me.
Mint was definitely getting closer, stationary as she was. Harper had a feeling it wouldn’t last, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. She didn’t let up. Neither did he, even when he spotted the steady streams of blood trickling down the corners of her mouth. He didn’t have time to question it.
She believes we are connected in a way that we are certainly not, Orleanna clarified, her soft voice notably firmer and more annoyed than usual. It was cute.
The Essenced girl was close enough. There was a very real risk of taking lightning straight to the face. He tensed accordingly, should he need to dodge at a moment’s notice. Slowly, Harper took Royal Orleans in both hands, settling his fingers into position. You don’t like her like that?
I am of the belief that the Ambassador made this choice out of spite, Orleanna practically grumbled.
Harper resisted the urge to laugh. It still got a solid grin out of him, even as he pulled the instrument to his lips. Just tell her you’re not interested.
I assure you, my child, I have tried.
You’re so popular, he teased. You’re really pretty. I don’t blame her. Maybe I’d be the same way, in her shoes.
The tiny sound of amusement that Orleanna offered him was as meek as it was warm. It was endearing, far preferable to her irritation. I adore you, my child, but I do not believe we are compatible in that manner.
This time, even with Royal Orleans in position, he really did laugh. Don’t worry. My heart is spoken for, anyway.
There was a moment where Harper caught Mint’s eyes, flashing as dangerously as the lightning she birthed with every little motion. In no way did he have the upper hand. He at least had something to work with, gaining on her so rapidly that he’d set a full-on collision course. For how small her instrument was, hitting her hands alone was going to be a challenge. Incapacitating her was also an option. Given the drawbacks of the will of fire, it still left him just as deadly as Mint. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling, and burning people wasn’t a fun concept. He was running out of ideas that wouldn’t get him electrocuted.
He didn’t have to worry about the lightning bolts anymore, at least. She stole them back with a vengeance the moment he came too close. Instead, the electricity that had threatened to strike him down now graced her with an elegance he could hardly define. It pulsed, it sizzled, and it sparked vibrantly as it embraced her with fervor.
Mint herself was practically a lightning bolt, a spark of her own that thrived under the weight of the shocking plasma trailing down her limbs. The golden jolts that twisted and curved along her skin were nearly audible, crackling to such a degree that Harper genuinely feared for his safety if he made contact. He was floored she was safe, given how close every blinding beam seemed to cross by her vital organs. Up close, she was most definitely bleeding from the mouth alone. It wasn’t gentle. To be fair, neither was she.
Where Harper could’ve sworn he had an edge in speed, Mint tested him again.
The moment she moved, she was perhaps as fast as the lightning in her blood. She was equally swift in other ways, more than capable of tumbling and twisting as necessary out of the way of everything he could give her. His eyes widened to such a degree that he nearly lost his focus, and she came much closer than he was comfortable with.
It left him, too, fighting to stay clear of the stray shocks and sparks that burst towards him with every humble tap and vicious rattle of the tambourine. Wherever Mint was aiming, it was definitely nowhere safe. He narrowed his eyes and tried again, settling on his initial option of pinning down the Harmonial Instrument that sought to kill him--possibly. Harper offered a silent apology. He’d give her a real one later.
Again was he cursed with the difficulty of dividing his attention. Between watching her movements, ensuring she didn’t touch him, and focusing on giving Royal Orleans all the breath he could expel, Harper was multitasking to a degree that was outright dizzying. One wrong move would land him with lightning in any number of places it shouldn’t be--some more fatal than others.
He entrusted what he could to Orleanna, grateful for her searing kiss on his lips as his fingers pulsed and burned. She lit him up and set him ablaze, and he gave her all he had right back. The fiery wrath that exploded from the bell of the trumpet was relentless, scathing scarlets and oranges cutting a straight path for the little tambourine in Mint’s slender fingers. It didn’t matter if she pulled away, recoiling at the last possible second to escape his inferno. He’d long since learned how to ration his breath. He wouldn’t give her a chance to recover.
If he had to chase her down again and again, he would. Harper hadn’t quite decided whether or not Mint was truly faster than him, although she absolutely had him at least evenly matched. The sparks that tangled with his flames were as beautiful as they were deeply concerning, somewhat concealed in a way his eyes struggled to keep up with. He searched for any possible inch of her that wasn’t coated in the essence of lightning, any skin that was safe to make contact with, and found nearly nothing. There was a singular exception, and he was still formulating how he could find a window to exploit it.
The way the hair escaping his cap had been standing on end for the past several minutes, in Mint’s immediate radius, was getting annoying. The observation came with the adrenaline-blunted realization of the most delicate, biting pain across his left cheek. It was so small that Harper almost didn’t register it, for how many times he’d been burned far worse. It was a different sensation, sharper and more piercing than what he was used to. Even if he didn’t have the leeway to reach up and touch it, he knew it was a wound that wasn’t of his own making. He really, really didn't like exactly how close it was to his eye. This couldn’t keep going.
Harper inspected Mint's fingers again, following them as closely as he could with eyes that could hardly keep up. He’d managed to singe them, somewhat--at least several on either hand were compromised. Regardless, it wasn't even slightly enough to deter her from playing. Getting her to let go through burns alone was going to be a gamble he didn’t have time to take.
Incapacitation was still a second option. He hadn’t entirely worked out how he’d pull it off without possibly killing her, and his preferred method was borderline unavailable relative to the lightning that twined loosely around nearly every inch of Mint’s skin. The one idea he did have required an opening he had to hunt far too long for. If she'd been even a few inches taller, it probably wouldn’t have worked.
Harper had largely learned to ignore how scorchingly hot the brass of Royal Orleans became after playing, although he knew it most definitely wasn’t a healthy ignorance. He’d paid for it many times over with blistered fingers that had now grown used to the feel of superheated metal--Orleanna’s alone, really. Had he not been accustomed to the scalding sensation that tingled painfully in his hands, it would’ve made it far more difficult to send the entire trumpet crashing sideways into Mint’s face.
He regretted it severely, particularly the second he heard the soft sizzle that outdid even her humming electricity. It was to say nothing of the way her neck jerked violently, her whole body lurching as Harper assailed her with his partner in a different way. He’d hit the side with the scar. For how much worse Mint bled, coughing and sputtering flecks of red in the process, Harper wondered if he was going to Hell when he died.
It didn’t get her to drop the tambourine. It did, however, slow her movements significantly, her once-swift flicks and shakes now trembling and weak. The electricity that surged about her skin was still ever-present, and yet jittering fervently enough that he wondered how much longer it would hold. He had to hit her twice. It didn’t feel good. It was simultaneously rewarding and miserable, for how Harper felt every last strand of hair slowly start to settle back into place upon his head.
Mint gritted her teeth, staggering somewhat as she struggled to gain some semblance of distance from him. He let her. If she couldn’t be Seliza’s conduit, she was sure to fall back on what was tried and true. It was exactly what she opted for. Harper took a deep breath, lowered Royal Orleans once more, and pushed as hard off of the soft ground as he possibly could.
He could hear Octavia’s voice, distant as it was. If she was watching, there was no way he could mess it up. Harper hoped she was, and if she wasn’t, he’d make her. His blood burned.
Even shaken, there was only so much physical damage could do to impede the essence of lightning. Lightning was lightning, crashing and unforgiving, and Harper had no less room for error as he ran for his life. Again did he strive to close the gap Mint had fought to forge, her arm aloft and every rattle seeking to strike him down where he stood. The only thing louder than the boom of each bolt as it collided mercilessly with the earth inches away was the rapid pounding of his heart. He had one chance to make this work, lest he completely run out of non-lethal options.
Sorry about this, Harper joked.
Do as you must.
He gauged his distance as carefully as was possible, striking whatever balance he could between safety and efficiency. When he came the closest he was convinced he’d get, he lowered his arm where Mint raised hers. They were just barely inverse of one another, and he struggled to outspeed her motions. Royal Orleans was heavier than Mint’s instrument, after all, and one hand was even harder to work with.
He wouldn’t be able to check his trajectory, for the tiny window he’d be granted. He wouldn’t be able to recoil, for the opportunity he’d lose. He wouldn’t even be able to guarantee he could get Orleanna's vessel high enough to avoid killing himself, and too low an effort would draw a line straight to his position. With all of the will he had, he gritted his teeth and resolved to keep his eyes open.
In the split second before Mint could swing her arm downwards, Harper launched Royal Orleans as high into the air as he could manage. It was a throw that he couldn’t verify, and was yet forced to pray would suffice. It was all he could do to run, from there. He just had to be faster.
The crack of Mint’s lightning as it collided with the brass was ear-shattering, white-hot and blinding above his head. He wasn’t dead. That was a good start. Mint’s eyes widened with confusion and surprise, an additional window that gave Harper precious more seconds to work with. Faster. Faster. Faster.
And when he found his opportunity, Mint didn’t have the chance to shroud herself in the voltage that had shielded her from his brutality. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about hitting the scar. He came in from the other side, in that case, although his left hook had never been quite as strong. It was still more than enough to send her reeling.
He laid into her with everything he had, and of that, he had a lot. He went for her stomach. He went for her sides. He went for her legs and her arms. For once, Harper was satisfied that there was no blood. He didn’t especially want to add more. When the initial shock faded, when the disorientation that came with a strike straight to the face had worn off, he didn’t let her fight back.
Mint struggled to lift her wrist, a desperate attempt to offer some sort of counter to Harper’s relentless assault. Even for as quickly as she’d jerked her arm, his fingers had encircled her wrist faster than she could fully lift the tambourine into the air. He twisted sharply, and the fierce wince that crossed Mint’s face made Harper wince in turn. Even for as effective as all of this was, he was still sorry.
She writhed in his grasp, and he only gripped tighter, his arm shaking with the physical effort of holding her. When Mint sought to reach for the instrument with her spare hand, Harper met her other wrist with the exact same treatment. Again, he twisted, and again, Mint’s face contorted sharply with pain. At the very least, he was fairly certain he wasn’t doing any lasting damage. How long he could restrain her was debatable.
“Octavia, now!” he screamed desperately.
Harper didn’t dare turn his head to see her. He could hear her, even so. The soft rustling of the grass, almost fast enough to match his pace, was his primary indicator, and he fought to stay still for as long as he could. This was the best he was going to get. He prayed it was enough for the Ambassador.
The flash of gold that burst to life above Mint was as sudden as it was blinding, and Harper again had to fight to keep his eyes open. At this distance, the Muse’s radiance nearly made his eyes water. Lightning was instant and fleeting. She wasn’t. Mint only flailed harder in his grasp, and he briefly entertained the idea of pinning the Maestra down to the ground in full. He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Seliza rested one hand on her hip in a gesture so condescendingly human. “Absolutely splendid. I would expect no less from the one Orleanna would claim as her own. Long have I wondered what she sees in you, boy. You have certainly piqued my curiosity. If the Ambassador would be so gracious, I would not mind playing with you a bit longer.”
Harper shuddered, his blush notwithstanding. “Okay, yeah, this is weird.”
Should she be left here permanently rather than return to Above, I would not object.
“Harper!”
That, at least, he was far more fond of. “Do it!” he yelled.
“Mint Mossovio,” an aggravating voice began, “your toll has been paid once over. Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”
Mint shook her head frantically. It didn’t matter. The moment Octavia’s fingers brushed against the tambourine, there was nothing she could do to stop the Ambassador. It was instant. Harper hardly had the time to blink, as always.
“What was it?” he heard Josiah call.
Octavia’s voice wavered through every word. “Same thing! All of them, they’re the same exact thing!”
“Damn it, this is insane!” Josiah growled.
“I have borne witness to your pain!” Octavia cried. “And my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart!”
“You are in quite the hurry,” Seliza teased. “There is no rush, little Ambassador.”
Between the tambourine dissipating beneath Octavia’s tender touch, the smug zest dripping from Seliza’s voice as she spoke, and the way Mint glared him down with outright loathing all the way to the end, Harper didn’t dare move. The risk of Mint fighting back in one last desperate attempt to reclaim her Muse was too great, and Harper wasn’t sure exactly what would come of Octavia’s efforts being interrupted mid-guidance. His hands still shook with the effort of clinging to Mint’s wrists, and it wasn’t until every sparkle and flash of gold had fizzled into the sky like dying stars that he uncurled his fingers. He staggered. So did Mint.
“Are you okay?” Josiah asked quickly.
“I’m fine,” he answered, just as fast.
“Don’t let her get to River!” Octavia pleaded.
Harper nodded, never once taking his eyes off the Essenced girl before him. “I won’t! Go!”
And in the wake of Mint’s silent, venomous gaze, punctuated only by the blood streaked across her face, the Ambassador did so. Both of them left as soon as they’d come, although Harper still wasn’t sure exactly how far along they were. He half-expected Mint to try to fight, bare-handed as their brawl would’ve been. Either out of energy or out of spirit, she only pierced him with all of the ire she could muster in lieu of words. It hurt more than he wished it did.
Maybe he could switch with someone else--someone still embroiled in their own battle, ideally. Harper knew he wasn’t supposed to. He couldn’t help the urge. After all, it would give him another chance to get Octavia’s eyes on him again. His blood was still on fire.
She thought he’d be unstable.
She thought he’d be compromised.
She thought he’d be disoriented, or emotional, or blinded by ire and sorrow to such a degree that he couldn’t see straight. She thought it would seep into his song and taint his fast fingers with flaws she sorely needed.
Instead, desperation made him perfect.
What she knew of his skill was garnered entirely in passing, solely cobbled together through brief experiences in Velpyre as he’d dashed clean past her. She hadn’t even so much as followed him inside the church, and Octavia had learned him far better than she had. He didn’t have an Apex. He didn’t need one, for how his eyes flashed with determination just as vivid and powerful in the face of failure he couldn't afford.
Viola pitied him, somewhat. It didn’t give her an excuse to falter, nor did she intend to. She hardly ever questioned Octavia’s choices. Even so, this was a rare exception, and she couldn’t shake the doubts from her head as she moved to the best of her ability.
It wasn’t just River’s fury translating splendidly into his stormy harmonies, but the dozens of other ways he seemed to have an edge on her. It was her breath control versus his stamina, a lopsided battle by far. It was the spirit of wind versus her soul of ice, a tangible legacy vulnerable to that which was not. It was the way he could outrun her, if he'd thought that far ahead--not that Viola was under the impression River knew of her athletic shortcomings.
It was the fact that he was not, under any circumstance, the leader of Tacell for no reason whatsoever. He was an incredibly powerful Maestro. In the heat of battle, Viola offered him her respect. She resolved not to let it spare him, given what absolutely had to happen.
Granted, the spirit of wind was restricted, somewhat, in the way that there was little for her to actually dodge. Even spared of projectiles, whether bursting, aflame, or otherwise, she could feel the razor-edged bite of every gust as it sped past her skin. There was little point in outrunning wind, for how he sent it spinning and streaming in every conceivable direction she could hope to flee to. It was all she could do to block it out. Viola blessed Silver Brevada with what breath she could spare on the move as her flats pounded against fluffy grass underfoot.
It still took a moment for the chill that stung her lips to birth something greater, her bursting frost splintering and expanding from the unfortunate flora upwards. It climbed just as much as she could hope for, a hurried glacier not quite so thick as she’d intended. It did the trick regardless, River’s vicious gales beating helplessly against unwavering crystal that only glistened in response. Viola could feel the residual streams she’d barely managed to part surging to her left and right instead, ruffling her bow so fervently that she half-wondered if it would come loose. It was an annoyance she hardly had time to entertain.
With the small reprieve she’d acquired, the chilled aura of her own barrier delicately tickling her skin, she gathered her thoughts as best as she could. Viola hadn’t been able to track exactly where the other three had ended up designated, although she liked to imagine their matchups made at least some semblance of sense. It was slightly hurtful to imagine that Octavia would’ve placed her here as a spare, and more so nonsensical of a thought to entertain. There were plenty more effective options.
Loath as she was to admit it, a spirit of wind would’ve been practically useless against Renato, for one. Conversely, she was fairly certain she could’ve put up a solid fight against Mint, provided she could thicken her ice quickly enough. If she’d ended up against River, there had to be a reason. That was how Octavia was.
Viola chanced a peek to the left of her frosted barricade, careful to keep her body as concealed as was possible. Where his melody was vivid, well-controlled and ruthless, he wasn't silent. He was more than audible above his storm, given the way he fell somewhere between pleading and berating. In his defense, it wasn’t entirely directed at her.
“This is all I’m asking for! This is all I’m asking for!” River repeated, his voice somehow steady despite the notable aggravation behind it. “I was so sure she’d understand! Why would she do this to me? This is my purpose! This is all I am! This is what I’m supposed to be! Why would you steal that away from me? This is everything!”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Viola could’ve sworn his gales were getting stronger, for how much harder the adjacent grass was hugging the flat earth. She, too, was only spared of his tempest by a single wall of crystalline protection, even sturdy as it was. She knew she should be saving her breath for Silver Brevada, and she very much intended to. Even so, she could spare a little of it as needed, provided she was loud enough to shout above his wrath.
“Oh, come on, River, you’re the leader of Tacell, for God’s sake!” Viola snapped, perhaps a bit too bitterly in the face of his pain. “You know what the Ambassador’s here for! You know what we’re trying to do! Why would you sign up for this if you knew what was coming at the end?”
From where she stood, she could see him shake his head, his fingers still flying unrelentingly along every key of the accordion. “I helped her as much as I could! I did everything she could ask for! I wanted to do that! I’ll give her everything! I’ll give her anything, anything except this! Let me be selfish about one thing in my life, please! I’m begging you!”
She’d have to aim carefully, to say nothing of aiming far. Making it past his gales, for how they streamed unforgivingly fast in the opposite direction, was going to be extremely difficult. Outspeeding him wouldn’t be enough--in truth, Viola didn’t entirely trust in whatever force she could put into her ice above. She still had to at least try.
“River, I’m sorry that you’re going through this, but you have to think of what’s best for Rondelio! There’s a ton of Maestros out there who didn’t want to give up on their partners, either, but it’s the right thing to do! It’s the only thing to do!” she argued.
What composure he’d clung to slipped clean from his voice, even if his song remained steady. “I’ll never ask for anything again! Please! Please!” River begged, every word wavering fiercely.
At this point, she really did pity him. For the soft spot she knew Octavia to have for him, Viola was glad the Ambassador wasn’t the one dealing with this situation. She somehow doubted that Octavia would’ve had the heart to stomach his increasingly-desperate pleas, even given her unbending commitment to her task. There was nothing more that Viola could offer the Spirited boy, stubborn as he was.
Her ice would have to serve as his only compensation, provided she could get it there. She braced herself against the ground as best as she could, for what of his storm she’d have to briefly be vulnerable to. With the deepest breath her lungs could tolerate, she gave all she had to Silver Brevada.
Initially, Viola kept it to herself, the jagged crystals she coagulated upon the air one after another sparkling to life in orderly unison. With patience, she gathered them neatly, a concept she refused to admit to the Ambassador’s face that she’d borrowed. She didn’t need to be excessive, for how at least some of what was to come would be experimental.
River had her pinned down, by which running headfirst into his forward winds had the potential to send her flying. It took Viola a moment to find satisfaction in the quantity she’d managed to bloom, glistening and shimmering with such resplendent clarity that she almost regretted where they’d end up. It was a start.
With the advent of her frosted harmony came violence opposite the storm, and she surrendered her carefully-crafted icicles at the greatest speed she could muster. It was with shrill notes and a rapid song that she trilled above his gusty melody, each jagged shard charging into his tempest as best as it could. When she saw them spiral in a manner far beyond her control, inverting and hurtling right back in the direction they’d come, they did so with speed far beyond what she’d managed to produce.
Most dug deep into the innocent earth with an audible thunk. As to the rest, it was all Viola could do to dive behind the protection of her glacier at the last second. Several speared clean into her shining barrier, and the terrifying cracks she could see forming on the opposite side were a strong indicator of how poorly this could go. She swore sharply. She’d established the futility of that idea, if nothing else.
Viola paused. Again, she raised Silver Brevada to her lips, offering up much of the same as before. The beloved ice that greeted her was abundant and lethal, razor-sharp and pointed as it sparkled above her head. For all the air it had taken, for how many breaths and careful notes she’d needed to bless her frost with precious weight, she hoped it would get her somewhere.
Once more, she repeated the same methodology. Going from the left would accomplish nothing, logically, and she knew River would counter it with ease. He’d hardly need to, given the stormy song that didn’t once let up. With her own icy melody as permission, the spiked crystals that sailed into his storm went marginally further--still feeble and futile as their siege was.
They weren’t repulsed, nor were they returned in the worst way. Instead, their notable weight in the face of his obstructive gales merely sent them crashing to the ground. The second time, they were spared of the residual velocity that had so viciously impaled innocent grass before. Viola’s eyes widened. By comparison, they’d cleared well over half the distance between the two Maestros.
That was the only confirmation she needed. She finally had something to work with--even if it wasn’t particularly ethical.
Viola had to will herself out from behind the cover of the glacier that had blessed her with desperately-needed protection. River was onto her, and the way by which his gusts had slowly begun to circumvent her frosted barrier was a threat she couldn’t ignore. Running was absolutely not her strong suit, and breath control was priceless. Brutal as this would be, she hoped it would work.
“You’re not the only Spirited Maestro in the world, you know!” she shouted above his song. “You’re not special!”
Viola didn’t need to see his face. She could hear the confusion in his voice. “What are you talking about?”
“None of us are special! They switch Maestros all the time! Rondelio had dozens of Maestros before you! If you died, he’d move right on to the next one until the Ambassador sent him back to Above! He’s not here for you! None of them are here for us!”
Where he searched for the words to counter her, Viola only heard a strangled sound of astonishment. It was the distraction she needed, and she dashed out from behind the safety of the shimmering wall. River's desperate winds rushed through her ears almost painfully, offset only by the actual pain of their sting against her hands and legs. Running headfirst into them would’ve seen her face blighted by the same. Viola went diagonal, darting sharply to his left as much as was possible.
“There’s no such thing as ‘signs’ from them! They’re not gods! They’re here by accident, and they’ve caused a whole lot of problems just by existing! You want to act like you understand everything about them, but you don’t know anything! You barely even understand what the Ambassador’s supposed to be doing! I mean, look at yourself right now!”
She chanced a peek at him. Even from afar, Viola could see the way the Spirited boy had gritted his teeth, recoiling beneath her bitter words. “I-I know what I’m doing!” River cried. “You don’t know me!”
For how long it would take her to conjure up the same resilient ice, heavy and obstructive, she needed the leeway to take multiple breaths in quick succession. His storm was still far too strong, his hands still moving far too skillfully and far too quickly as they assaulted every key. She feared he might steal the very air from her lungs, should she try to inhale that hard. In lieu of ice, she needed venom.
“You want to pretend you’re this selfless person who’s willing to give up everything to make everyone else happy, but you're not! You want to pretend you’re some kind of blessing to other people along the way, but you’re not! You’re selfish! You’re selfish and you’re stubborn!”
“You don’t know me!” River screamed once more.
“You take pride in burning yourself out like it’s something noble to do, and you’re so self-righteous and arrogant that you think everyone else is obligated to do the same! You think the only right way to live is to die! You want other people to hurt themselves for your ideals, River! You’re a sick person!”
“Shut up! Shut up!” River begged, his voice cracking. “You don’t know anything about me or what I believe in! Don’t act like you do!”
Where she’d expected frustration and hurt to make him weaker, the pained glimmer in his eyes only brought with it ever sharper streams that bore down on her directly. Parallel as she was to them, they were impossible to both outrun and withstand alike. He caught her off guard, his gales sweeping her clean off her feet and sending her hurtling high in reverse.
Viola screamed, tumbling sharply backwards in mid-air as she lost her orientation almost immediately. Every passing glance at the ground was a nightmare, and there was a very real chance that the descent would do serious damage. In reality, the height was far more of a concern than the distance with which he’d repelled her, and she had half a mind to wonder if he wouldn’t be content to do it once alone.
Against her better judgment, it was with trembling hands and great effort that she dragged Silver Brevada to her lips. This was as poor of an idea as it was a difficult one.
Viola couldn’t see behind her, and so every desperate note was a shot in the dark. For the fresh chill that stung her lips with each inkling of outward breath, she knew she was at least making something. Given the crackling that came with it close behind, equally as excessive as every frantic movement of her fingers, she knew she’d at least aimed at the right place.
It was incredibly difficult to trade the reflexive screaming that would usually come with descent for her song. When gravity claimed her, still somewhat diagonal to the ground, it took effort to time her unfortunate inversions carefully. Playing upside-down was a nightmare. How Renato could spin and flip like this constantly was unfathomable--especially willingly.
And when her flats tapped firmly against something solid, Viola didn’t dare breathe a sigh of relief. It was a breath she needed to save for the rest of her fall, suspended at a difficult angle as she was. Nearly perpendicular to the ground, her approach would be terrifying. The crystalline shield that had coagulated to halt her repulsion was just barely enough for her to claim for long. Inevitably, gravity would steal her once more.
Before she could slip, before her shoes could slide clean off the slippery surface, she made the terrible decision to steal from Renato once more. By comparison, she intended to be far, far more gentle. Until the day she died, she'd never admit to his face that she'd borrowed the idea.
Her angle, too, was dangerous, and her window to play was painfully small. Still, Viola went as fast as she could, weaving a song much sharper and louder than she typically clung to. With bent knees, narrowed eyes, and a prayer for good measure, she pushed off her airborne foothold in time with the crystalline explosion. She couldn’t recall many times when she’d opted to shatter her own ice, and never with quite so much force. Outwards it went, and downwards much the same. The pressure that blasted against the soles of her flats was immense, although not quite uncontrollable. This, at least, was far better than wind she couldn’t withstand.
And the moment Viola’s feet touched the ground, landing with a grunt and a wince beneath the heavy impact, she was on the run again. She couldn’t fight the smile that burst onto her face, either. It took her a moment to pin it down, and she dashed with everything she had.
Can I be honest with you?
At such a time? Brava chided somewhat.
She rolled her eyes. It’s a shame I’m going to have to leave you soon. I feel like I’m growing more as a Maestra every day. I want to see how far I can go.
Then cherish what time you have left, and I will observe your efforts with interest. I implore you to entertain me, girl, if such is your wish.
Viola scoffed. I’m not doing this to put on a show for you, you know. Don’t patronize me.
And yet it is my soul from which you draw your strength, he reminded. You are indebted. Consider this my compensation.
She groaned inwardly, a bright smile settling into a smirk. You’re so obnoxious.
The second time around, she was diagonal from the opposite direction, a collision course set with the boy who’d just tossed her skywards. On the surface, it was a terrible idea. In the time it had taken her to return to earth, her jagged words still fresh and piercing, his eyes had begun to water with bitter hurt.
Even if his song was intact, she could catch the way his hands trembled around either end of the accordion. In the worst way, it was working. Viola did, in fact, feel bad. If Octavia knew, she’d probably kill her. If it was for Rondelio’s sake, Viola wondered if the Ambassador would make an exception.
If she was going to manage a full approach, then, maybe it would take the Ambassador after all.
“All you do is make Octavia miserable!” Viola snapped. “Ever since she got here, every time she gets upset, every time she's crying her eyes out, it’s because of you!”
That was a lie. That was a scathing, burning lie. It still carried some slight truth, fleeting as it was. The shock that immediately veiled River’s face served as perfect validation.
“She gets emotional when she talks about you, and not in a good way! She talks about how you’re stubborn, and how she’s worried about you, and how it kills her inside that all you do is hurt yourself constantly! It drives her crazy that she can’t get you to stop, and she’s even asked the Ensemble for ideas on how to make you knock it off! You’ve broken her heart over and over again, and you don’t even care!”
For every attack Viola had hit his soul with directly, the way River’s face contorted with utter agony was unlike anything she’d verbally wounded him with thus far. If his eyes had vaguely watered before, his tears now flowed in even greater excess than his winds. She didn’t let up, berating him right where it ached with every step.
“Some friend you are! She really, really cares about you, more than I’ve seen her care about anyone in a while!”
That was only partially a lie. Octavia was excellent at making new friends. River, technically, qualified, and he’d qualified splendidly. For a newcomer, they’d definitely grown close enough. Even if Viola knew exactly where Octavia’s loyalties lie, there was absolutely room in her tremendous heart for River. It was clear on her face every time she spoke of him.
“She gave you her love, and you wasted it!”
The word “love” was subjective, at least for the Ambassador. Viola was well aware of that much. River wasn't, and she was well aware of that, too. It was worth a shot to see how badly it could tear River in half. This entire assault was getting more unforgivable by the minute, and she somewhat wondered if she deserved whatever punishment would follow.
That one, in particular, was enough to break him, apparently. Viola had always suspected as much.
“Stop it!” River screamed, outright sobbing as his gusts slowed all around. Each tear that dripped onto the accordion was trailed by labored breaths, heartbroken suffering oozing from every pore. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it, please, stop!” he begged desperately.
Viola had her opening, for how the gales that besieged her gradually weakened and spared her skin. Still streaming about her as they were, she wasn’t free of their threatening prowess. Emotionally compromised or not, River still found the drive to do battle, utterly broken and with no steady breaths to spare. Viola doubted he could so much as see straight, for how many tears escaped his pained eyes and how many harsh sobs erupted from his throat. It was a cruel advantage. She raised Silver Brevada to her lips as she drew near, replacing his faltering winds with her vicious breath.
The second time around, it didn’t take quite as much effort to make them thick and powerful. It was with less breath than she’d anticipated needing that Viola brought her sturdy icicles to life, crackling as they coalesced about her shoulders. She at least did him the favor of blunting the tips--a trade-off regardless, given their weight. The hefty crystals at her disposal, from such a close distance, were hers to blight the Spirited boy with at will.
With his tearful eyes wide and his entire body trembling in sorrow, the handful of steps he took backwards were in absolute vain. His defensive onslaught of sharpened gales, weakened as it was, didn’t sting nearly as much as it could’ve. It still hurt, and Viola winced as every gust seemed to snag against her exposed skin. It wasn't even slightly the worst thing he could’ve done to her. She knew that with certainty. Had the leader of Tacell been at full capacity, she wondered if she would’ve been torn to shreds at this range.
She wasn’t, though. That was all that mattered. With all the trills and speedy, frosted notes she needed, Viola's chilling song was enough to challenge his frantic gales without hesitation. Every frozen shard she could offer up sailed clear through his storm, undaunted and unflinching as they slammed into him in full. River cried out in pain, recoiling fiercely as she hit him again and again. Even if she knew she’d done him the favor of sparing him a bloody fate, Viola had absolutely no doubt the physical damage he’d sustain would be hellish. For how many times her exceedingly-weighted ice hit him in the ribs, specifically, she didn’t want to imagine the outcome.
She was doubly sure to go after his hands, pelting every finger and smashing his wrists with such force that he could hardly move them. Already, she could see the way his skin rapidly reddened. She was confident she’d broken at least a few of them, for how harshly he’d screamed over at least four of her impacts. Maybe Octavia would kill her.
The moment his hands stilled in full, his battered extremities completely useless, Viola could feel the way the wind rippling so heavily around her began to still much the same. The air, too, calmed, and her ears found only the sound of his merciless sobbing. She didn’t dare remove Silver Brevada from her lips. The moment River fixed her with hollow eyes, she was justified.
From behind the ocean of tears that called his gaze home, the tiniest spark of resolution that had survived was enough to trail to his twitching fingertips. Of those she’d not managed to fully incapacitate, the most feeble attempts to press down on the stilled keys accompanied his best efforts to push his ruined hands inwards.
She wouldn’t give him the chance to play, and the most gentle melody that she offered River instead surely came with a different kind of pain. For how many times she’d gone out of her way to avoid stinging others with the bitter chill of her soul of ice, she didn’t flinch as she watched her frost bud at the center of his fingertips. Branching outwards, Viola didn’t intervene, content to let it spread quickly and remorselessly down the length of his palms and envelop his knuckles.
She’d touched this kind once, in passing. It had been a reflex to recoil almost instantly, unfathomably cold as it was. Viola didn’t want to know. She really, really didn’t want to know. River was screaming again. Maybe this was overdoing it. Maybe it was necessary. She hoped he stopped before Octavia got here.
“Octavia!” Viola cried.
“Don’t!” River cried above her, his voice cracking immediately.
She’d hardly needed to wait, not for how quickly Octavia was at her side. It was a relief, although she wondered exactly what had prompted the Maestra to arrive so fast. It crossed Viola's mind, briefly, that--out of the four of them--she’d held up the Ambassador. It was almost laughable.
“Viola!” Octavia called back.
The sound of footsteps coming to a halt was an instant relief. She'd barely been aware of how hard she'd been breathing right up until now. This, at least, was a reprieve she was blessed with. The look of horror on Octavia’s face at the sight of River’s hands wasn't. Viola tried not to let it last.
“Do it quick! I’m holding him back!” Viola instructed.
“I-I’ve got it!”
“Please don’t, please, please!” River begged tearfully, shaking his head. “Octavia, please, I need this!”
Octavia raised her hands above the accordion with tears in her own eyes, lifting her gaze skywards in anticipation of what Viola assumed came next. She didn’t offer him apologies, even as he pleaded again and again. There was nothing left to give him.
“Faith!”
It wasn’t River.
Viola’s eyes darted sharply to the right. She wasn’t the only one, for how strangled and desperate that cry had been.
“Help him!”
Unarmed as he was, Francisco still intervened with his words. It wasn’t Octavia he screamed at, nor herself--ironically, given that she was the one pinning his leader in place. The death glare he fixed the Heartful Maestra with was unforgiving and unforgettable. Viola couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end.
Truthfully, she’d completely forgotten the Maestra in question was there all along. She’d forgotten she even existed.
For how Faith only trembled, her hands wrapped hesitantly around either half of her Harmonial Instrument, she’d been rooted in place for--presumably--as long as Viola could imagine. With wide eyes and heaving shoulders, every rattling breath spoke to words she couldn’t quite form in full.
“I-I-I--”
“Quit friggin’ standing there and do something! Help him!” Francisco demanded, gesturing aggressively towards River. It was too much motion, apparently, and Madrigal was in position immediately. He tensed beneath her wordless threat, the Maestra’s eyes sharp as they were. Behind gritted teeth, it did little to curb his tongue.
Faith continued to stammer. “I’m…I--”
“Do something!” Francisco screamed at the top of his lungs, a plea just as panicked as River’s own.
“Shut up! Shut up!”
Viola flinched. At her side, Octavia’s reaction was identical, and Francisco was no less immune. Even River, in multiple flavors of agony as he was, had ended up stunned into silence.
“You want this? This is what you want? Take it! Take it, then! Take all of it!”
Francisco’s voice, shaking with panic or otherwise, carried just as much confusion as Viola felt. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want me! You want her!” Faith growled.
Francisco shook his head, utterly baffled. “Faith, just do something, good God!”
“I’ll do something!” she snapped. “I’ll friggin’ do something, alright? I’ll do something! I’ll do something! Is that what you want?”
He blinked, his face contorting with frustration. “What the hell is your pro--”
The Harmonial Instrument settling onto her shoulders rapidly was definitely “something." It was something that Viola was powerless to intervene against, still restraining River as she was. She couldn’t fight the audible gasp that left her lips, and the most she could do was tense. How she was to tolerate the full fury of light, she had no idea. Even this far along, she’d never truly been on the receiving end. For the lack of Heartful Maestras she’d ever met, it wasn’t particularly unexpected.
At her side, it was all she could do to pray for Octavia’s aid. Even then, Stradivaria was flat on the ground, and Faith’s eyes were, apparently, not on Viola at all. When she trailed the girl's wild, confusingly-wrathful gaze to Octavia, instead, the horrifying chill that ran down Viola's spine was enough to seep into her blood. Faith’s strangled cry of absolutely unrestricted ire was enough confirmation.
“Ambassador!” she screamed, her voice tainted with the most vicious venom Viola had ever heard. It put everything she could ever concoct, true or false, to shame.
Octavia came to the same instant conclusion as herself, her hands far too distant from Stradivaria to stage a quick intervention. The infuriated Maestra slammed the bow against the strings of her instrument with such force that Viola could hear the strangled note that followed. There was no counter. It was all so sickeningly fast. Viola’s heart, too, raced fast enough to burst from her chest. She was surprised that it didn’t.
There was precisely one person who raced even faster. Fixated on River as she was, it was only the heavy, rapid footsteps beating against the earth again and again that caught Viola's attention. She couldn’t outright look behind her, and it wasn’t until he breached her peripheral vision that his approach--of all people--made her head spin. He was going right at Faith.
“What are you doing?” Octavia shouted frantically.
He wasn’t as fast as Harper. He never had been, nor was he even necessarily as fast as Octavia. He could keep up. He’d outrun the wrath of Hell itself, after all. It was with nothing more than a humble, glistening knife clutched in one hand that he openly sprinted towards the Heartful Maestra, her eyes darting to him instead. Viola couldn’t see straight. She didn’t want to.
“Catch up with me when you’re done!” Josiah yelled, never once peeling his piercing gaze from Faith’s own. “I’ll hold her off! Don’t leave me for too long!”
“Josiah, don’t!” Viola cried.
He ignored her altogether. The moment Viola heard Faith’s song, loaded with unmistakable rage, she could’ve sworn her heart would stop.
“Octavia, we have to do this fast!” she pleaded, her head snapping to the Ambassador.
In reality, there was little more she could do to actually help Octavia. This was the furthest she was going to get. Octavia, at least, was already well at work with or without her. Unfortunately, that meant she’d be privy to River’s desperation once more. Rondelio wasn't immune to the same, the vivid viridian above miserably captive to their battle. Viola wondered if the Muse resented her for what she’d done to his Maestro. She wondered if the Muse resented him for what he’d planned to do, instead.
“Ambassador, I…offer you my apologies and my gratitude, all the same,” Rondelio spoke quietly. “I depart this realm with a heavy heart.”
“Please, stop! Please!” River pleaded once more. His best attempts to so much as move were feeble, severely wounded as he was. It was a miracle he was still on his feet, a testament to his spirit alone. Viola had somewhat expected him to have fallen long ago.
Octavia ignored them both. Yet again, her eyes were swimming with tears. There was nothing Viola could do. So, too, was there nothing River could do.
“Do it,” Octavia commanded, her voice cracking.
“Stop it!”
“River Cobalt, your toll has been paid once over.”
“Octavia, I’ll do anything! Please, don’t! I’ll do anything!”
“Now, Ambassador, see through the eyes of the one who paid the toll.”
“Octavia!” River screamed.
It wasn’t enough to stop her hands. They descended onto the accordion, her gentle touch contrasting with his agonizing shout. In the time it took Viola to blink, Octavia’s eyes had gone wide, pooling with tears that had already begun to spill. She cried alongside the Spirited Maestro, her own sorrow silent in contrast.
“Why would you do that?” she murmured as she wept. “You’re not like that.”
As to what she was talking about, Viola was unsure. It wasn’t enough to get River to stop.
“Octavia, please, please, I’ll never ask for anything else in my entire life,” he whispered. “I can’t live without this. I have nothing without this. Don’t take this from me. I’m nothing. I’m nothing.”
“You’re something,” Octavia said softly. “You’re precious. You always will be.”
And when her shaking fingers hovered above the accordion yet again, her eyes never once met Rondelio. In the passing moment they found River’s own, drowning in despair, the suffering in her gaze wasn't lost on Viola. Every plea that still rolled off his tongue wasn’t enough to stop the Ambassador from tilting her head towards the clouded sky. She closed her sorrowful eyes, and the tears that trailed down her cheeks broke Viola’s heart. They were inevitable.
“I have borne witness to your pain.”
“No!” River cried, the most strangled and guttural cry Viola had ever heard.
“And my light guides your passage from the depths of my heart.”
There was no more pleading. There were no more broken screams of her name. There was no point. There was only the weightlessness that greeted Octavia’s fingers, visible from afar. There was the sparkle of viridian as it fizzled and faded into the air splendidly, a Muse held captive by a desperate heart freed to return where it was meant to be. There was the blank gaze of a boy annihilated in every way, a spirit shredded to pieces and irreparable. There were the tears Octavia shed on his behalf, and those River could hardly shed for himself.
Viola lowered Silver Brevada. She didn’t need it anymore, not for the way River’s obliterated hands had emptied. He staggered. He fell to his knees, slowly but surely, and his arms came to rest limply at his sides. His face was empty, and Viola suspected his soul was just the same. She found no light in his eyes where once had been passion. It burned to witness. She couldn’t bring herself to face the rest of the Ensemble, for how they’d futilely battled to stem his pain. There was nothing that could be done. Octavia watched his every move with pitiful, bitter tears and choked sobs of her own.
Viola couldn’t fight the tint of a wobble in her own voice, doing everything she could to steel her words. “You’re not done. Josiah needs you!”
Octavia’s resilience was admirable. It was beautiful, as much as her heart and her soul in every conceivable manner. The way she hurriedly smeared her tears with her palms at the mention of Josiah’s name alone was instant. Her hands on Stradivaria were reflexive, as Viola knew them to be, and her speed was as impressive as ever. It was all she could do to offer her eyes to the Ambassador, even at her back, as she fought to finish what needed to be done.
It was only for the sake of guarding the guidance of Faith’s Muse that Viola’s attention remained on River. It wasn’t as though he could fight back. It wasn’t as though he would ever fight back for the rest of his life. He’d be lucky if he could fight back physically, let alone move. He’d be lucky if he could ever feel anything again. For all she’d berated him with, Viola gave her silent sympathies to a spirit that had been stolen from the world below for the sake of those above. Ten years was nothing, and he lost his heart instead.
Place your bets!
